The Juror’s Chair
Tomorrow I’ll spend my Sunday as a juror for the Scholastic Art Awards at PNCA.
If I’m being honest, the first time I served as a juror for this event I was both bored and frustrated—mostly by the indecisiveness of my fellow jurors.
Thinking about that brought back memories of when I was the student being judged.
Two moments came to mind.
The Harley-Davidson Almost
It was my senior year of college, and I was showing my final fashion collection.
Sister Aloyse—one of my favorite instructors and the founder of the fashion program—had always given me plenty of creative freedom. My collections tended to be ambitious, sometimes more complex than practical. I didn’t procrastinate exactly, but my timelines were always unrealistic.
That year, I created a collection that was Matrix meets The Cell: heavy black vinyl lined with liquid red metallic fabric, floor-length gowns chained at the waist. It was my best work yet—but one piece refused to cooperate. The top of a skirt wouldn’t stay in place, and ten minutes before the runway, I used black electrical tape to hold the straps. No one would ever know… unless they looked very closely.
The annual Mount Mary College fashion show was a big production for a small private college, with sponsors like Harley-Davidson. They were offering an internship and a design grant that year.
I hadn’t slept in two days and was running on coffee and adrenaline. When the results were announced, I didn’t win—no surprise, really. Vinyl and chains don’t exactly scream Midwest.
After the show, during the reception, Sister Aloyse came up to me and said quietly,
“I’m not supposed to tell you this, Angie, but had you finished your collection, you would have received the Harley-Davidson award.”
I was stunned.
Her honesty stayed with me. I learned that good ideas and big effort still have to meet completion. Harley loved my work—but unfinished is unfinished.
The Paris Scholarship
The other memory was from my junior year, when I applied for the George Winters Scholarship—a chance to study in Paris over winter break. I was carrying 22 credits, overloaded, and falling behind. Part of the requirement was to take French, which I soon began skipping.
Then, out of nowhere, I was awarded the scholarship. Panic set in: I’m going to Paris… and I’m failing French.
I did finish the semester—barely—and yes, I got my first F. But that trip changed everything. It gave me confidence to travel, to see the world, to believe I belonged in it.
Full Circle
Tomorrow, I’ll be on the other side of the table.
Somewhere, students are living their lives, unaware that their work will soon be discussed, debated, and quietly judged. Our decisions will ripple into their stories in ways we’ll never know.
So this time, I’ll be patient with my fellow jurors. I’ll respect their pauses, their uncertainties.
Because the smallest decision might carry a butterfly effect—nudging someone, somewhere, toward what they were meant to do.
I intend to be an excellent juror—for the students who trust us to be nothing less.